


Mind Of His

by ohhipstaplease



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Just a small one shot about Zayn, One Direction One Shot, Other, Post-Zayn One Direction, There were so many feelings about him leaving, clearly i had about all of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:48:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28545867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhipstaplease/pseuds/ohhipstaplease
Summary: "There was something comforting in that twisted life of his, in the disarray of chaos upon his body, in the newly found freedom that had him still locked in a bathroom wondering where he had gone wrong. " | As Zayn notes that his Bus 1 tattoo is fading, he recalls the events of the past six months.
Relationships: One Direction & Original Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	Mind Of His

It was fading. He rubbed his skin, almost as if that would rub it off completely, but it didn't. It was still unapologetically legible, still read 'Bus 1' in slightly faded black ink. Almost wished he had never gotten the bloody thing, knew that he'd be forever linked to something he'd already turned his back on, but that was the price he paid for being impulsive.

Knew that no matter how much it faded, that stupid tattoo would always pop into his mind, the memories right alongside it, urging him to look at its remnants upon his skin, making him face the reality of his present, but that was the price he paid for that fucking masochistic mind of his.

"Zayn?" 

He stopped studying his hand and cautiously turned back to look at the nameless blonde who admittedly looked too much like all the others, "What?" He grunted at the clone, sure that she would make an excuse and bolt before he even got a shirt on, almost found comfort in the fact.

"I'm heading home."

"Okay."

He didn't wait for her to say anything more, didn’t want her to. Simply got up and shut the door to the bathroom. Knew she wouldn't look for him again, knew she wouldn't care enough to ask if something was wrong. That wasn’t what they did, wasn’t her place. 

"Call me." She yelled out, not waiting for a response. He heard the door slam but still couldn't walk back out. He sighed loudly, his heavy breath fogging up his reflection in the mirror. Could hear his phone vibrating on the counter outside, knew it must have been Harry for the hundredth time. Still didn't have the heart to tell him he was gone for good, surprised he had any heart left at all, really.

The condensation on the mirror faded, he studied his face. There was still a cluster of purple beneath his right eye, a consequence of walking out and coming back to rub it in Louis' face. He didn't regret it, the only thing he regretted was that his photoshoot would be postponed. Could give a fuck about his past mate who couldn't see past his own fury. Then again he knew he provoked him, had to. Had to make him realize that he wasn't the same guy. He wasn't worth saving. He was the betrayer, he left when things got bad. Couldn't even say it to their faces, just took off one day. Thought he was just being cool though, thought it was the best way. But those were excuses, like always. 

His gaze shifted to the length of his arm, bold, purposeful lines, tracing his trajectory to now. The girl upon his bicep made him flush, memories of her too soft skin under his roughed up hands too vivid still. Knew she too was far gone, knew it was his doing. Could still hear her whimpered cries as he shattered everything pure within her. Almost wished he could say he cared less, almost wished he could make it better. 

But there was something comforting in that twisted life of his, in the disarray of chaos upon his body, in the newly found freedom that had him still locked in a bathroom wondering where he had gone wrong. He almost wished he hadn't forsaken everything he had known before, almost wished the stupid tattoo wasn't fading. But it was. 

The phone vibrated again as he made his way out of the bathroom, making him sigh loudly. He didn't want to admit he was wrong. He had made his choice, he had cut his ties, he had gone rogue. 

Still though, in a moment of weakness, he played the voice message, one of countless Harry had left in the past week.

"Zayn, mate? I wanted to congratulate you on the new album. It was a brilliant, bloody brilliant. I know we haven't talked...but I thought enough time has passed between us. Please, call me back. Say something, anything, mate."

He pressed delete without giving it a second thought, lit up a cigarette so that his hands would be too busy to play another message. Couldn't help but think of what Louis had said that fateful night, how he had spitefully yelled, "You're being a coward! A fucking coward! You're just going to run away from the world!? How stupid are you? Do you know how hard we've worked to get here?" 

Could still see Louis' 'Bus 1' tattoo as he waved his hands angrily, a perfect mirror of his own. Could still hear the bitter betrayal in a voice that had once comforted him, "We both know this isn't a break. You can fool Niall and Harry, maybe even Liam, but not me. We both know that once you step out that door and get on that plane you're never fucking coming back." 

And he didn't. He knew he wasn't going to. But he needed an out, it didn't matter if he fractured every relationship in his life up until then. 

But god, he still wished the fucking tattoo wouldn't fade. It just reminded him of how fleeting everything was, how eventually everything ends. He felt as if he were having an existential crisis for the fifth time that month. He couldn't have it both ways. He couldn't wish to forget but to still remember. But he did. He wanted to forget that he had walked away from it all, that his pride could never let him go back. He wanted to remember the night he had gotten the fucking thing, how he and Louis were completely wasted, laughing and hiccuping, almost enjoying the pain of the needle upon their skin as it was masked by a combination of lightheaded and buzzed happiness. 

But all things must eventually end, tattoos fade, friendships end and love never lasts. There was no point in worrying over something that would eventually be nothing more than a faded remnant of a life once lived. 

He lit another cigarette, leaned against the counter of his pristine kitchen, his bare skin hot against cool marble. His eye twitched, still swollen from Louis' fist colliding with his face. Wanted to break down and get his tattoo fixed regardless, wanted to go and tell Jackson to fill it back in, make it darker than it had been before. Had to remember to take a deep breath and remember what it was that he was told when he 16 and first starting out.

"Do you want to be famous? You, Zayn, have only one option."

And that's how he was labeled, how his public persona was bestowed upon him. Mysterious, dangerous, cool, moody. God, how he hated being called a bad boy though, cringed as he imagined himself with a ridiculous pompadour and a cheesy leather jacket. But his management never relented.

"Bad boys are cool, mysterious, they don't conform to the norms. Do you want to be successful? Forget being nice, forget having friends. You're here to be famous, aren't you? You were born to play this part, Zayn. Don't let the opportunity go to waste."

He was not naive. They all had roles, all had certain ways they were to present themselves. But perhaps he had taken it too far. Perhaps he wasn't a bad boy anymore, maybe he was just a bad person. 

He shrugged off the thought, muttered a "Fuck it" and flicked the butt of his cigarette into the kitchen sink. He saw the phone vibrate again and this time he didn't hesitate, "Listen, don't call me anymore. You want me to say something? Tell Louis he'll be hearing from my lawyers for assaulting me last night."

He was a bad boy after all, or rather, that was the part he was to play in that twisted mind of his.


End file.
